


Saihara-chan, Kill Me

by gyuuniku



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (sort of), Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyuuniku/pseuds/gyuuniku
Summary: When Shuichi wakes up, head resting on a classroom desk, Ouma is much smaller, quieter, softer. Like he had been left with his appearance, but someone had swapped out what was inside.Unless, that was all a lie too.“This world doesn’t deserve us, anyway. I don’t want to live anymore, even if it's in the game, so I’m giving you explicit permission to kill me.”





	Saihara-chan, Kill Me

**Author's Note:**

> (Please check the tags before reading for warnings!)

どうせ死ぬのならいっそのことさ

_If I'm gonna die anyway, I might as well do it soon_

あなたに殺され死にたいよ

_In fact, I wanna die by your hand_

* * *

 

  
“Saihara-kun.”

Was that light? On the other side of Shuichi’s eyelids.

“Hey, Saihara-kun, wake up. Class is over.”

Pure light, not filtered by the dome that normally trapped them in. Like bugs in a jar, obstructed with fake glass. This was the kind of soft sunlight that seeped simply through a window.

And what was that smell? Was that wood? Finished wood you would find on a desk that was used for too many years.

“Sai-har-a-kun!”

There was a warm hand on his shoulder now, shaking him gently, forcing the smells and feelings to connect by a thin collection of string until they resembled a conscious recollection of stimuli.

Shuichi blinked at first, watching the open classroom window fill up his gaze with its fuzzy brown frame and blinding light. Once its burning glare cleared out all the darkness from inside his skull, he could only jump, pushing himself more into the hand that nudged him gently into what he could only guess was reality.

“Geeze, sleeping during class isn’t like you… Are you sick?”

Was that really…

“Ouma…?” There was artlessness in Shuichi’s voice, completely the fault of pure confusion, and partial shock, turning his head instantly to face the small body looming over him.

“Yeah, you’ve been asleep for a while now. Really… Are you okay?” The boy tilted his head, the bouncy tendrils of his hair reacting to the movement, forming their own question marks as they flipped upward next to his concerned face.

What kind of dream was this?

A nightmare, surely. That wasn’t new. Seeing the faces of his dead friends, reminded of their loss for the sake of fake entertainment, was just the norm for Shuichi at this point. But something about this felt different. His face wasn’t the disembodied beings that assaulted him with questions and accusations, their final words booming inside of his skull over and over.

_“I’m not gonna die the way you want!”_

_“I’ll be watching forever and ever.”_

_“…Okay? It’s a promise.”_

This was a sort of gentle awakening someone like him could only dream of.

“…Can we get going? I don’t really want to stay here any longer…”

“Where are we?”

“In our classroom… Hey are you really okay? I can take you to the nurse if you want but-“ Another sideways look. “I’m not sure if…”

Ouma seemed… different. Smaller, quieter, softer. Like he had been left with his appearance, but someone had swapped out what was inside. Shuichi was still slightly confused, but when he saw Ouma glance backward toward the door, he let his mind begin to work.

There was a lot he wanted to say. I’m sorry? I failed to trust in you as a friend? You were different, and troubled, but not wrong? You tried your best, in your own, messed up way? But you ruined a lot, more than you needed to. Why did you take Kaito from me? No, no he couldn’t blame him…

That wasn’t right, no, none of that was right. Shuichi couldn’t think of what he wanted to say when Ouma looked so wide-eyed and… innocent? More so now than any other mask his face had ever taken. He kept glancing backward, at something the other couldn’t see, and Shuichi leaned over, following his line of sight to the classroom door.

There were three, towering figures in the doorway, arms crossed and closely whispering. They seemed to be glaring directly at the pair, and after coming to distrust everything around him, Shuichi was keen enough to know that staying there was a bad idea. There were so many questions, but being somewhere safe was more important, so he stood up and took a hold of himself for once.

He could only appreciate the feeling of a warm desk beneath his fingers for a few moments, resurrecting old memories of childhood and adolescence. What did he mean, he was still an adolescent…? But somehow compared to the idle and giggling bodies around him, he felt much, much older.

“T-This way, come on.” He grabbed onto Ouma’s wrist, and felt the other jolt beneath him, something he wasn’t expecting. Such a negative reaction, when normally the joker would have leaned in and exclaimed his jesting interest.

Shuichi was unnerved, obviously, but pressed on, speed-walking out of the classroom through the only other door in what must have been observed as a brisk strut. In reality, he couldn’t let the stares and gaping expressions unnerve him when Ouma’s wrist was in his grip, pulsing underneath his hand with a rapid, continuous beat.

Besides, escaping a busy classroom was familiar ground to him. Sure, he usually wasn’t outrunning threatening racketeers, but his well-meaning peers. An introvert was still an introvert.

“S-Saihara-kun, you don’t have to-“

Shuichi interrupted Ouma’s modest interjection by turning to the left, heading down the hallway of a school building he didn’t know while avoiding the absorbed looks he was receiving. He could barely remember anything other than that sick, twisted building he was sequestered to, but this was still a school. Bullies were universal, hallways were hallways. As long as he avoided those menacing, knuckle-cracking boys, he would at least take a minute to talk things out with Ouma.

“Of course, that’s so smart… No one will try to say anything when I’m with you. That’s Saihara-kun though, always thinking things through.”

That made Shuichi want to pause, so he did, coming to a freeze as the narrow path split off into two separate corridors. They weren’t alone, but the boy felt dizzy, wanting to hold onto his head but unable to even move any part of himself while a dead man stood behind him.

“Why would no one say anything?”

Ouma brought his free hand to his chest, slightly digging his fingers into his black, button-up uniform with his long nails. There was a desperation in his grip, but it wasn’t negative, just a sort of reluctance to speak the uncomfortable truth.

“Because people like you. They don’t really like me…”

To ask why was pointless, there was a lot to dislike, or more correctly misunderstand, about Kokichi Ouma. But this Ouma was not that one, was not the one Shuichi was used to.

He had to deal with him the same way then, he had to assume he was lying. The slight quiver in his voice had to be planned, the unsure redness that plagued his pale face was a forced reaction. Shuichi turned to face him, seeing a weirdly sad smile on his lips.

“What do those guys want with you?”

His words sounded so tired, and done. Lies, and lies, and lies. If his mind, and Ouma, were going to drag him into this realistic and ideal setting, he had to disrupt it with some sort of argument for the truth. Even if it took a few layers to get there.

“…My lie didn’t work on you last time, did it?” Again, Ouma didn’t seem surprised, but he let out a squeamish sigh, his hand still clutching at his chest. “My dad owes their dads some money, that’s all. I didn’t want to tell you because you would try to get involved probably…”

What could Shuichi even do? He was taller than Ouma, but nowhere near as tall as most boys their age, and he certainly was not strong enough to take on anyone, let alone guys like that. Could he mean…?

“I don’t think I’m smart enough to take on an organized crime ring.” Shuichi could only assume owing money meant one thing, and this honest admission made Ouma laugh wholeheartedly.

“Really? I think you are. Besides, you’re always practicing.”

There was the acute awareness that the students mulling around the hallway, avoiding their end of the day clubs, were all watching the pair intently. Was it just his anxiety personified in the dream, or did it seem like everyone had a weird interest in the pair.

“I heard they actually got to the interviews…”

“Huh? There’s no way! Why would they interview someone like Ouma and not me?”

Nearby voices were just loud enough to hear, but their sentences were completely hollow when Shuichi had no idea what they were saying. This dream was becoming more and more difficult to dissect, and bear.

Ouma began to wiggle underneath Shuichi’s grip, and he had not realized he was still holding onto his arm until he let go immediately. The smaller boy covered the spot where Shuichi had just been holding on with his hand, and kept his eyes on the ground, the passive role he was playing going on for just too long, to the point it was making Shuichi uncomfortable.

“We better get going, the trial is today.”

That was not a word Shuichi was expecting to hear, and it made the emptiness of his stomach feel painful.

“T-Trial?”

“Yeah, they’re broadcasting it tonight. Don’t tell me you forgot that you promised to come over and watch it with me? We always watch them together.” Ouma’s face had seemed always cautious to smile, but he forced one onto his face as he looked up at Shuichi. “You always figure out the culprit way before I do, but it’s still fun.”

Shuichi thought he was going to retch, but he didn’t want to do that in front of Ouma’s easily breakable smile, it just felt… wrong. He knew what he was talking about now.

“Let’s go then-“ Ouma started walking, but Shuichi stayed standing in the same spot for a few seconds, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he tried to keep the ground from shaking.

 

* * *

 

 

The train ride and subsequent walk home were completely silent, devoid of Ouma’s usual chatter and tricks. Shuichi’s stomach just kept hurting worse as the streets got darker and the houses began to fall apart more. They traversed deeper and deeper into the seediest neighborhood Shuichi had ever stumbled upon, the stray cats making overflowing garbage cans shake as they walked by, sagging wood homes letting the loud noises inside of them seep onto the street between the cracks in their foundations.

Ouma seemed unfazed, even stopping to let a dog run in front of him to cross the road without a word. He calmly led the way until he came upon the doorstep of a two-story, off-white home. If it could even be called off-white, the paint was so peeled it was barely there anymore.

Ouma pulled a keyring from his pocket, only one key dangling from it pointlessly, unlocking the door without a word. He stepped inside, and when Shuichi didn’t follow, he peeked his head out of the doorway to look back at him.

“Are you gonna come in?”

“U-Uh yeah, sorry.” Shuichi approached the door and peered inside, the completely dark hallway only revealing a set of stairs immediately after the entryway.

Ouma methodically removed his shoes and set them to the side, no other pairs accompanying his in the small area that should have been brimming with others. Shuichi paired his up and set them next to Ouma’s, making the scene a little less lonely, but no more inviting than it already was.

They took the stairs up to the second floor, the wood creaking and complaining, as even the small weight of the slight boys tested their strength. When they made it to Ouma’s room, he held the door open for Shuichi, entering after him with a small huff.

“Aah~ Today was boring too.” The light flickered on, and when Shuichi turned to Ouma, he was grinning in a much more familiar way. “But Saihara-chan, you were acting kind of weird today, did you hit your head or something?”

There it was, Saihara-chan. Being called by something else had been what first alerted Shuichi that something was off about this dream world, but the jarring return of the regular Kokichi Ouma was even more unnerving.

Even the way he had carried himself had changed, his shoulders now straight, and his feet no longer turned inward in submission. It was almost like an attack of deja-vu, it sent Shuichi to the tip of his toes and kept him there, just like the way Ouma used to. Back when he had been a bit more unpredictable and terrifying.

“W-Weird? You were the one who was-”

“Is the return of the real me always that surprising? Does it make you excited?” Ouma walked up to Shuichi and leaned in uncomfortably close, his hands clasped behind his back. “I wish I could say it’s hard to pretend to be someone else, but that would be a lie. It is kind of exhausting, though.”

No, that was wrong. The Ouma before, he couldn’t just play it off as a farce he used to trick those around him. The way he had acted was far too comfortable, and effortless, to be a lie.

Shuichi was more inclined to believe that _that_ was the real Ouma, the meager, soft-spoken, unassuming student that kept his head low and his thoughts to himself. If Ouma wanted, he could become whatever he wanted, so why pick someone so pathetic and docile?

Where was the fun in that? There was no fun. It had to be painful for Ouma, to be trapped into the routine that kept him from everything Shuichi knew he enjoyed. Like the rottenness was building up inside of him until it sloshed behind his eyes and consumed his entire brain, turning him into what stood before Shuichi now. An act he could only portray in the safety of the four walls of his room.

Shuichi was shy too, so he understood the feeling, of not being able to express what you really mean. He had inferred enough about Ouma’s situation up until this point to know that whatever Ouma wanted to be, he had to have been beaten down and torn away from it many times until he became complacent. Where Shuichi had been encouraged, and not completely stomped as he grew, Ouma was crushed until he was nothing but a thin layer of dirt.

Shuichi had a habit of overexaggerating things, at least, so maybe it had not been that horrible. But for someone to go from the Ouma he knew, and the Ouma he had just been shown, there had to be a reason.

This was Ouma outside of the game then, wasn’t it? He must have displayed his vibrant, constructed self, the one he had fashioned after years of inner turmoil, to whoever forced them into the game, and that was who they chose to portray.

He had always wondered what Ouma was really like, and now after seeing what could be considered the largest faction of the true Ouma, he felt an unnerving guilt begin to wrap itself around him tightly.

Was he really just a boy that sequestered himself to his imagination because the real world was so dull gray to him?

“…Is it really an act?” Shuichi said once his thoughts cleared, and Ouma frowned, clearly not the answer he had expected.

“Of course it is! I thought you, out of everyone understood that Saihara-chan.” Ouma turned around, the deep black of his uniform so different from the bright white Shuichi was used to. “’Who cares what the outside world thinks about us, because they’re all dirty, good-for-nothings anyway.’”

Ouma had distorted his voice slightly to sound more like Shuichi, and the other had to take a step back at the extremely daunting words.

“That’s what you always say, right? All that matters is how we portray ourselves in the game. And we even passed the interviews!” Ouma turned back around, excitement sparkling in his eyes.

“I never said that.” Shuichi sounded unsure, and Ouma heard it, but confessed to his lie.

“Well, maybe you didn’t say exactly that, but those are just details. More importantly…” Ouma leaned back in so he was just as close as he was before, his large eyes taking up most of Shuichi’s sight. “Don’t go soft on me now, Saihara-chan! You were the only other person to understand! I’ll have to kill you if you fail me!”

This was becoming too much; Shuichi’s head was swimming as Ouma’s words became more and more like the ones he was familiar with hearing. But what he had said, did Shuichi really say that? He certainly didn’t think that, at least…

Did he? Actually, everyone outside of the game, they were all watching for entertainment purposes, distracting themselves only briefly from their daily lives to watch people die and die over and over on repeat. Innocent people, twisted to do horrible things, to kill their friends, to betray their trust, to-

“Anyway, stop being weird and sit down. We’re gonna miss the trial if you keep this up.”

Ouma bounced onto his bed without another word, the springs protesting loudly as he opened his small laptop. He searched around for a while, typing idly while Shuichi stood in the middle of room, frozen.

If this was Ouma before the game, someone who enjoyed to watch the killing just as much as everyone else, then that meant…

That meant Shuichi did too.

“Now then, I’ll explain the rules of the class trial!”

When Shuichi heard Monokuma’s voice he wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, trying to hold onto himself as he felt like all of the life was going to leave his body at those disgusting, recognizable words. Unable to believe it, he rushed over to the screen as Ouma snickered, looking over the side he was not sitting on to see the iconic, monochrome bear.

“That’s more like it! This trial is going to be so exciting, who do you think did it? I think-“

“Turn it off!” Shuichi yelled, his eyes wide as they panned past the faces of the students, unknown to Shuichi, but all holding the same, frightened expression he remembered seeing and wearing.

“So it’s gonna be your favorite, huh? I didn’t see it coming, but if Saihara-chan figured it out, then it must be-“

“You have to turn it off, you can’t watch this. Those are real people, they’re-“

“Uh, yeah, of course they are. That’s what makes it interesting.” Ouma sniggered, looking up at Shuichi with a sly expression. “Normal people who loved watching the killing game, forced to suffer for the same enjoyment. Despair inducing, isn’t it?”

As Ouma spoke abominable words, Shuichi reached for the power button on the laptop, almost touching it before his hand was slapped away at lightening speed. Ouma was looking at him with a deep frown, his small hand he had used to stop Shuichi raised between them.

“What are you trying to do?”

“I’m not watching this.” Shuichi turned and reached for the messenger bag he had taken from the school, supposedly his own, but filled with belongings he had no memory of. Again, Ouma was on him in a flash, pulling on his arm with enough power that it was not done as a joke. He sent Shuichi reeling backward, the both of them landing on the bed with a groan from the mattress accompanying their weight.

“Wake up, Saihara-chan!” Ouma got up and began crawling toward Shuichi, making the boy sit up, and back away as fast as he could, his back hitting the wall and trapping him there. “You sound like some old person!”

“It’s wrong! If it weren’t for this game, then-“

“Then we wouldn’t be alive right now!” Ouma was crawling into Shuichi’s lap. His hands on either side of his legs, until their faces were inches apart. “You hated living as much as I did, right? Until we had the game! It’s our way out, we don’t have to live here anymore.”

Ouma sat down, straddling Shuichi with a crazed smile on his lips, making the burn in the other’s face cool with an uneasy chill. It was horrifying.

“We’re actually going to get picked to be on that screen, can you believe it? You’ll be the Ultimate Detective that commits the perfect murder, and kills me!”

“I could never kill you.” Shuichi shook his head, vaguely aware of the noises still being emitted from the laptop, sickeningly familiar.

“Sure, maybe not right now,” Ouma tilted his head as he spoke, still grinning. “But when we’re in the game, you won’t remember me. I’ll just be the evil Supreme Leader, you’ll want to kill me the second you meet me.”

That wasn’t true, none of it was true. Shuichi never wanted to kill Ouma, not even when the darkest times pitted them against each other. He was idealizing his own death, he was idealizing the Shuichi that he knew, but it wasn’t who Shuichi was now. How could you tell that to someone without sounding insane?

This was all a dream anyway, but it didn’t make Shuichi any less distraught. Ouma deserved at least some happiness, after everything. Even if this Ouma lived only in his mind.

At this point, though, Shuichi was unsure if it was even a dream. Maybe he had died, and this was his punishment, trapped in an endless circle of waking up on a desk, and facing the tortured souls of his friends that he had failed to save.

“I won’t kill you, Ouma-kun,” Shuichi said firmly, making the smile fall from Ouma’s face, a weird sort of sadness clouding up his eyes.

“Why not?” Ouma had rested his entire weight on Shuichi, his hands limp at his sides. “I want you to, so why won’t you?”

He grabbed onto Shuichi’s hands and lifted them so they were clasped between the two, Shuichi’s palms sweating as Ouma’s fingers curled around them.

“You’ll kill me, you’ll make my murder the most unsolvable, memorable murder in the entire game! The you’ll live on as the survivor, and do it all again. You’ll live forever Saihara-chan, in a place where you have control of your own life.” Ouma brought their hands closer to his body, and Shuichi could feel how he was quivering with excitement.

“Everyone will love you, everyone will realize they should have respected you more.” Prying Shuichi’s hands apart, Ouma forced them around his throat, placing his own on top of them to keep them in place. “This world doesn’t deserve us, anyway. I don’t want to live anymore, even if its in the game, so I’m giving you explicit permission to kill me.”

Shuichi was violently shaking his head back and forth, unable to form any words, only stopping once Ouma began pressing his hands tighter into his neck, his face going red slightly at the minor constriction of his throat. His eyes went wide in terror, and he attempted to pull his hands back, but Ouma was surprisingly strong when he set his mind to something, keeping Shuichi’s hands in place without a struggle.

“Why aren’t you excited anymore?” Tighter, tighter, Ouma could feel his heart pick up and react immediately, the ancient encoded skill of self-preservation at odds with his warped mind. “You always said the game was your reason for living. I know you like me, but it’s okay if you kill me since I said you could, and it’ll make the game so much more interesting. Oh, and I’m not lying this time.”

Ouma’s voice was going a bit hoarse, and when Shuichi still did not responded, his face a mask of pure fear, he stopped. He let his hands fall, and for a second, it was only Shuichi’s grip on his throat, a feeling he had longed to feel for so long.

Shuichi loved the game, sure, but Ouma loved Shuichi more. If he could be released from the monotony of his tear-jerker of an existence by making Shuichi happy, would it cancel out all of the bad things he had done, or thought of doing in his life? Like cosmic karma, maybe then he could be at peace with the blackness he wanted to feel.

Shuichi pulled his hands away quickly, the feeling of Ouma’s thin, fluttering neck burned vulgarly into his skin. The only thing that was left was Ouma sitting on his lap, his face unreadable, but hovering closely over his own.

What was this atmosphere? It felt oddly romantic, but tainted by what Ouma had said before, and Shuichi was perturbed, nowhere near understanding it all. What was this? Ouma kept inching his face forward. What was this? What was this?

The door to the room was thrown open out of nowhere, hitting the wall with a discordant bang that chipped the paint. Looking over, Shuichi saw the same mark across the same spot, clearly an injury from the same slam being repeated daily.

It seemed like Ouma had been expecting it, or was at least used to responding to it, as he left Shuichi’s lap in a flash to stand in the center of the room. He faced the doorway, and a stout man lumbered in, bringing a stinking, nasty air with him.

He was definitely wider than he was tall, but he had weirdly childish features that Shuichi recognized, squaring off with his son as he glared at him with narrow eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are bringin’ strangers into my house?”

“We’re doing homework. He’s my partner.” Ouma’s voice was completely even and chill, lacking the melodic rise and fall he teased others with. He didn’t sound scared, but he didn’t sound comfortable either, leaving Shuichi unsure what the truth of the situation was. “You weren’t supposed to be home until later.”

“So, you brought him over without asking?” The man walked a little closer to Ouma, ignoring his words, and the boy stiffened, but didn’t back down. “Don’t go bringin’ kids in here without my permission.”

“You smell bad, you’ve been drinking.” Ouma brought a hand to his nose and used his sleeve to cover his face, causing a rage to seethe from the already aggressive man.

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I said you smell, and get out of my room.” Ouma had only barely finished his sentence when the man lunged at him, grabbing a hold of his arm and yanking it into the air. Unexpectedly the boy yelped, his shoulder looking strained as he was almost dangled off the floor, the only thing preventing him from being completely lifted up was the lack of a height difference between the two.

Shuichi’s head had felt frazzled at the previous interaction, but his lack of an action at Ouma’s confessions were eating at him more and more. He should have said something, and now, he needed to say something even more. Ouma was hurting, in more than one way now, and Shuichi was sitting there like the useless piece of trash he cursed himself for being.

But he wasn’t the type of guy who would jump up, come between the two, and end it with his own confidence.

‘Let him go, or I’ll do the same to you.’

‘You better back off, and never touch him again.’

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t Shuichi, no matter how hard he wished it was.

“I-I’ll leave!” Shuichi jumped up, and did the only thing he knew how to do.

He eliminated his presence.

The man looked at him with yellowed, glassy eyes, but they lacked anything that frightened Shuichi. They were just vile.

“Finish your shit and get out.” Instead of letting Ouma down, he tossed the boy against the wall like he was a weightless ragdoll. Shuichi heard the crash as Ouma’s side hit the already unsteady wall, instantly falling to his knees without a fight. He kept his head hanging, his eyes facing the ground where his hands were the only thing keeping his body upright.

The sight kept entering and leaving his eyes, the sting of tears making his face contort into a painful expression. He let his face take on the ugliest form it possibly could to keep the tears from falling, successfully keeping them inside of his eyes as his nose scrunched up.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

Crying for real was the thing Ouma hated the most.

When the man left the room, Shuichi let himself breathe another breath, trying not to make it obvious he had been holding it in his chest. He couldn’t see Ouma’s face, but he could only imagine what it looked like, his shoulders trembling.

Shuichi took a step forward, before Ouma barked out, “Don’t touch me.”

There was always guilt in Shuichi’s mind, for everyone, for his faults. It was enough guilt to fill an ocean, but now, it swelled to unbelievable breadth, swallowing the entire planet.

Assuming, he was in hell, and that this was the truth, he knew he had failed Ouma more than anyone. Not by not killing him, but by letting him die in the first place.

As if it was his fault, as if he had done it with his own hands. What was the point of all of this suffering if it never changed the ending?

“You’ll really kill me now, won’t you? You promised me, and I won’t forgive you if you break that promise.” Ouma looked up, and Shuichi saw the tears brimming on his eyelashes, an agonizing look of failure, and true anger, on his face. “You’ll kill me, and win the killing game.”

Shuichi didn’t say anything, because the truth would just break him in half, and a lie was impossible.

Sometimes, it was better to say nothing.

 

* * *

在り来たりな鈍色の世界で

_In this trivial, dull gray world_

最原ちゃんが僕を殺す

_Saihara-chan, kill me_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thanks for making it to the end of this.... this thing. This is the first fic NDRV3 I'm posting, despite working on a couple others, because I make bad choices.  
> This is slightly inspired by the song, Nashimoto-We, Kill Me, by uisukiP, a Vocaloid producer. The quotes at the beginning and end of the fic are lyrics somewhat edited from the song. It's a pretty good satirical piece, but it's also interesting if you view it seriously too.
> 
> When I first saw Ouma's pre-game sprite he was just so... innocent and shy looking. There had to be something going on in his head for him to become what we saw in the game. I feel like he and pre-game Shuichi would feed off of each other in a pretty hardcore way, so, this was a result.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a comment and kudos.  
> Have a great day!


End file.
